


Bad Blood

by Vicky_Strife



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Depressed Dean, Depression, Feels, Gen, I Made Myself Cry, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts, post 10x14
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-29
Updated: 2015-03-29
Packaged: 2018-03-20 07:14:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3641427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vicky_Strife/pseuds/Vicky_Strife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was only a matter of time before Dean would crack... Ficlet set after 10x14 The Executioner's Song.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bad Blood

**Author's Note:**

> **"Don't listen to any word I say  
>  I say'em to make you feel ok,  
> I'm not who I thought I was..."**  
> \- Bad Blood by Alison Mosshart & Eric Arjes
> 
> This fic was inspired by the [song above](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GY48TZz9jvs), heard in episode 6 season 5 of the amazing series "The Walking Dead". I've got way too much feels for Dean lately and this song matches him too (not only Carol), since it's about someone "bad" who can't die yet because they still have to pay for their crimes...
> 
> I don't know what this fic is, it just needed to come out^^ Enjoy ! Or not...

A silhouette bent by the weight of years and guilt is drinking a cup of coffee, wrapped in a grey robe. The man is in a windowless kitchen; tiny, pityful form in that cold scenery. A yellowish light weakly sizzles above him.

Suddenly, another form materializes and sits in front of the first one, as if it had responded to a secret call. The man doesn't jump; he doesn't jump anymore.

-          Hello, Dean. You're up early.

-          Yeah. Coffee ?

-          Yes, thank you.

Dean gets up to pour him a cup, his knee creaking, while the angel inspects him from head to toe with concern on his face.

-          How are you feeling ?

-          Great, Dean answers automatically before sitting down.

Castiel frowns, his broad lips pinched in sorrow.

-          I hope one day you will stop lying to me, Dean... Lying to yourself.

-          I'm not lying. I'm alive. I breathe. So it's ok.

-          Living and being alive are two different things...

-          Listen Cas, it's too early for this crap !

In his outburst, he has spilled coffee all over his hands and the angel has slightly recoiled on his chair. Dean tries to apologize but his hands are shaking, _again_ , they won't stop shaking until they are covered in something else than coffee.

Castiel has noticed it and he gently wraps them in a napkin that was on the table. The hunter quivers on contact; he is not accustomed to the intimate gestures, at least, those who are disinterested. His gaze briefly crosses the angel's one then falls back on his fingers. Castiel is carefully swabbing them with the cloth, one at a time. Miraculously, his hands stop stirring and Dean fears that he has used his grace.

-          Stop it.

-          I'm almost done.

-          It's not worth it, stop ! Don't waste your grace for me...

-          I'm not using it.

-          Who's lying now, huh ?

Castiel smiles playfully:

-          I think you're rubbing off on me.

-          ... Shut up !

To Dean's dismay, his tone and his words did not match; they were said with too much affection. He might as well embarrass himself a bit further now, so he clears his throat and mutters:

-          Thanks for that.

-          You're welcome.

Silence reigns in the kitchen for several minutes. The only noises breaking it are the mugs each time they're being laid on the table by their user. This hypnotic dance could very well last forever, but Castiel will not back off:

-        Are you feeling any... different since you killed Cain ?

-        No.

-        Really ?

-        Yes.

-        Dean, please... Tell me the truth, you have nothing to fear. I only want your sake.

Dean stares hard into his eyes, ready to spit a scathing reply because all that matters is to _keep him away_ , but what he sees in his blue iris deprives him of any desire to do so.

-          Ok. You want the truth ? It's not ok. Hell, I don't even know if it has _ever_ been ok ! It's _worse_. And it _will_ get worse. It _always_ does. It will never get better. And still, we hang on, over and over ! We're stupid, there's no reason to hang on because we will never get better, we're freakin' masochists ! But we hang on, because we have hope, that damn hope that keeps us from sinking like a lifebuoy glued to our body when everything we want is to dive ! I think God grafted it in our genes in order to keep torturing us, otherwise all of his toys would kill themselves and he would be bored... If we were smart, if we were rational, we would shoot ourselves in the head. Because there's no getting better, there's only remission and relapse !

Dean shuts up, shocked by the flood of words that have escaped his mouth. He takes a look around, disoriented, and hits the counter behind him; he had got up without even realizing it.

Castiel has not moved. His attention goes from him to... something next to him. Dean looks in that direction and finds out he is holding a knife that was initially out to dry.

-          I... I'm sorry... I'm sorry ! I... I didn't mean to... It was an impulse and... !

"And that's the worst of it" a voice finishes for him in his mind. It got to the point where he can't even trust his own body.

Castiel gets up, slowly, and bypasses the table to approach him with outstretched palms, like a hostage.

-          It's ok, Dean, everything is alright...

The hunter wants to answer no, everything is bad, because he's terrified, terrified by what he has become, because he can't even control himself anymore and he's afraid of what he could do to him and to Sam, every day, this fear is gnawing at him and he even locks himself up in his room for the night in case he went off the rails. But he only emits a sob.

Castiel is very close to him now, just one step and he will be within range of the weapon he can't drop, no matter how much he wants to. The angel moves forward and he expects to be knocked out by him so he's not a threat anymore, because that is what he would do if he were in his shoes, however, Castiel does not do it.

He simply takes him in his arms.

Without any regard for the knife, which falls on the floor of with a metallic clatter.

Dean's thoughts shut down, short-circuited by this unexpected action; Castiel firmly hugs him as if he were never letting him go, and deep down, he is surprised to find himself loving the idea.

Finally, something in him shatters all of a sudden, his resistance, his will, it is not of import, everything he knows is that he is pressing the angel against himself with all his strength and that he is burying his face in his shoulder. He is vaguely aware that he is covering his trench coat with tears, tears that will shame him for the rest of his life, but he can't prevent them from flowing.

Castiel's hoarse voice resonates in his left ear and against his chest:

-          Here, don't hold back your tears... I am right here, Dean. We will hang on together, ok ? I will be your lifebuoy and you will be mine.

Dean nods, failing to speak, and clings even more to him if possible. He would like to melt in Castiel's heat, in the security of his arm and the smell of his skin, to never leave his embrace.

He feels like the most miserable and the luckiest man on Earth at the same time.

In the hallway, Sam leans against the wall. A hand on his mouth to stay quiet, he lets his tears fall silently down his cheeks, shaken to see his big brother so exposed.

**Author's Note:**

> So, umm... I hope you liked it ? It was really hard for me to translate it in English so please, if you have found any mistake or strange phrasing, let me know :)  
> For those who haven't noticed, I have shamelessly reused a quote from Cain: "[There is no resisting the Mark or the Blade,] _there is only remission and relapse !_ "


End file.
